Angels
by thestacatto
Summary: <html><head></head>Kyle's diagnosed with a chronic illness with no cure. It's up to Stan to keep Kyle healthy, passing school, out of trouble, keep his secret, and still live his own life, but the weight's too much. Then Craig gets in the way. NOT STYLE. Suicide, swearing.</html>
1. Prologue: Death's warning bell

So, this is my first story. :D On this account, that is... be nice, I haven't written in a while! Any ways, all I have to say is that this is going to be a depressing fanfiction!

**It will contain implied gay love very often, and Stan will probably end up trying to get in Wendy's pants half the time.** You've been warned.

Until then, enjoy the prologue (and the rest of the story, if you follow), and I now present you with the mandatory song-lyrics! :D

_Isn't it strange that a gift could be an enemy?_  
><em> Isn't it weird that a privilege could feel like a chore<em>?  
><em> Maybe its me, but this life isn't going anywhere.<em>  
><em> Maybe if we looked hard enough we could find a back door <em>.

-Incubus, Privilege

* * *

><p>Maybe I'm a terrible friend for not remembering the conversation with the doctor verbatim, but I remember the cold words he uttered and with such uncaring tone in his voice that it felt like the whole world could fall upside down and no one would care. That's pretty much how it was. I remember the sick, dead feeling that started in my brain and enveloped the rest of my core, telling me to give it all up now and forget about my best friend when the doctor let out the unforgiving, even confusing statement that he gave. My question was to be expected from an unknowing teen. Sure, me and my friends always ripped on people for having Breast Cancer and Diabetes and what have you, but that's the basics, along with AIDS and all that good stuff.<p>

"What's Lupus?" I could hardly force my tight jaw to open and crack out the words that were so shaky they put my structure of sanity in total jeopardy, daring to collapse the membrane and let all my perplexed thoughts come crashing out like some freakish teenage tsunami. I tried to listen to what the man had to say, but all I could make was a lot of mushy sentences masked by the deafening thud of my heartbeat in my ears and individual words, like "painful," "disease," "deadly," and "incurable." The last one shattered any chance at happiness that I would ever try to muster that day, because, at hearing that, what _was_ happiness? Happiness was two hours before that, actually, when the poor kid I call my best friend wasn't dying in a dilapidated hospital bed.

Mrs. Broflovski was also losing it -her sanity, that is- and fell to her knees, sobbing and praying. The sight was startling, and almost scary, because you don't expect to see someone's matured mother brought to the brink of her own joy. My breath was uneven and audible: too audible. It hurt to do just that, to just breathe; my throat was tight in an attempt not to cry. It hurt to see everyone so lost and pitiful, and I wondered why I of all people had to become to attached to such an unhealthy boy.

"But he's fifteen!" Mr. Broflovski seemed to be trying to reason with the doctor, persuade him out of allowing their son to be diagnosed with something labeled as 'incurable'. The doctor's movements were all too perfect, indicating that he'd done this 'revealing' process many times. He looked to the floor and let out a faux sad sigh. Then he turned partially on one heel, and Sheila rose, as did my head. I peered into the room where Kyle lay in a cot behind a curtain, covered for privacy.

"I'm sorry. You may visit him now, but keep conversation simple. He's under much stress with the knowledge of his own sickness." The way that he so flawlessly spit the sentence at us made me sick, and I pulled a Craig Tucker-move, balling my hand into a painfully tight fist then flicking out my middle finger once he was walking away. Finally, I went into the room to greet Kyle with an overwhelming hug. He gasped and hugged me back weakly, smiling even less convincingly, but it was confirmation of his mortality enough to send me into a tasteless, dry sob on his lap. I wasn't even the person being given an expiration date, but it sucked, and that's about as best as I can describe it. It was about as blatantly screwed up as someone having to find out their mom was murdered or their dad raped to death, and that's no joke. It was just a deadpan thing, and it took a hell of a long time for it to settle in. It didn't even begin to make it's way into my brain while I hugged the sick Jewish boy, it was still making it's way through my system with the start-and-stop motion of my pounding blood.

My visual and auditory senses were out for the count, but it smelled like death and sickness, and I just wanted to scoop up the dying redhead and run away and say this never happened. The little glimmer of hope that this was a dream flashed, but a very small voice shattered it, along with the twenty other slivers of possible-escapes.

"I'll be okay, they say," Kyle tried to reassure me. I bit my lip, really wishing he hadn't said that. It sounded like a pathetic lie to cheer me up, and that's not what I wanted; I wanted the truth. Eventually, he'd probably die of this 'Lupus' thing. I didn't want to know when, I just wanted to know if it'd hurt him. "You got me here in time for it to be discovered before any thing too bad happened." Though quiet, he sounded grateful. "Most people who contract it don't know till they're dying from the result of it: kidney failure. So thank you."

"Kyle, no, I-!"

"Never tell Cartman." Confusion knocked out all other turning wheels in my brain. Sensory-overload at it's best. "You heard me! Never. Let. Cartman. Know." The accent in his words made me wince. At least Kyle was still in there, sick or not.

I made it my life's goal to make sure that Eric Cartman would never find out that Kyle Broflovski was an angel. A Lupus Angel.

* * *

><p>Okay, I'm done. :D Prologue! I have no idea how this will turn out, but if you give me reviews, I'll continue!<p>

Sorry for the slow prologue. D: I promise it'll get funnier after character-introductions and explaining just what lupus is and all. :0 For now, bear with me, please!

Also, if I wonk up **any** of my statements about Lupus, tell me! All I know is what my mother tells me about herself.


	2. Chapter 1: Angel's Melody

Quick update! :D Cause I'm so slick like that. 8-) I have up to chapter 4 written, the hard part is typing it up, or finding the motivation. XD Any ways, IIII don't have much to say. More character introductions, tidbits of information on Lupus, blahblahblah. Boringness. Next chapter gets better, I swear! This one's...blah, it feels unorganized. DX

**Warning: Some swearing later on in this chapter, brain-melting information which most readers will skip, band wars.** You've been warned.

And here's the lyrics of the chapter!

_Not two days ago,_  
><em> I was having a look<em>  
><em> in a book<em>  
><em> and I saw a picture of a guy<em>  
><em> fried up above his knees.<em>  
><em> I said, "I can relate,"<em>  
><em> cause lately I've been thinking of combustication<em>  
><em> as a welcome vacation from<em>  
><em> the burdens of<em>  
><em> the planet Earth.<em>  
><em> like gravity, hypocrisy,<em>  
><em> and the perils of being in 3-D.<br>But thinking so much differently..._

-Incubus, Pardon Me_  
><em>

* * *

><p>One day led to two, then seven, then 365. Before they knew it, the four boys referred to as "Cartman's gang" were very abruptly shoved into their once-homely highschool as new seniors, getting ready to graduate and move on. That was some months ago, though, and they were now halfway done with the last year of required school. For those two years, though, Stan had done it; he'd kept Kyle's secret, and all the other things he promised himself he'd do, from Cartman and the world. For those two years, he also watched Kyle live in pain. The subject of his illness wasn't one touched upon that often if ever, but it was there, and Stan would see the redhead become unable to work any longer by mid afternoon. He went home from school early a lot, wasn't as active, in turn gained weight and became depressed.<p>

Kyle ended up draining most of his energy in a day just trying to get to school and back, plus exerting more to do work and help others and pretend he was okay. When Cartman insulted him, he took it, because he couldn't waste his life worrying about every little comment thrown his way. He had bigger and better things to focus on. At some point, Kyle had cracked, though, and beat the everliving daylight out of Cartman's sorry being so that his own knuckles were stained with both of their blood. Thirty minutes later, he was in the hospital, unconscious from exhaustion. For this reason that Stan alone understood, he had a lot of mercy placed on Kyle, being his handyman and doing almost everything for him. He picked him up for school, dropped him off, helped him with homework, hell, sometimes he helped him bathe. They were best friends, and they'd known each other since they were _born_; there was no shame in this.

A Lupus patient has a certain amount of things they can do in a day, due to limited energy, hence Kyle's new inactivity. Take this explanation, originating from Christine Miserandino, called the 'Spoon Theory'. Pretend that you have a handful of spoons. Every time you do something, you have to give up a spoon. Depending on how long an activity is, or how strenuous it is, you may have to give up more or less spoons, but for simplicity, say it's one per action. If you didn't get a lot of sleep the night before, you have to expect to wake up with less spoons than a normal night's sleep would get you. Napping won't get you many spoons back, either. Just waking up requires the loss of one spoon. Getting up loses another. So does walking across the room to get changed, taking off your clothes, choosing new ones, putting them on, and by the time you want to go make breakfast, you probably only have a few spoons left. Your day is very carefully planned, and any bumps or dents can completely ruin it, very drastically. Then your plans have to carry on to the next day.

It's hard to say what causes the painful illness, though. Some theories say it's genetic, others say it's just triggered, and the less intelligent think it's an STD of the sorts, or can be transmitted through coughs and whatnot. All that it is, in a nutshell, is your body attacking yourself. Your immune system has gone haywire, and it doesn't know bad from good. It's vital to a person with Lupus to stay as healthy as they can. On top of their own body attacking itself, if they get sick, the bacteria or virus is attacking them, too, then their immune system tries to defeat all the wrong things, and it can be lethal to get a simple cold.

Stan was eternally thanking God for the fact that it was not contagious of any sort, self-centered or not. At least, it wasn't contagious as far as any one was concerned. For the first few months after Kyle's diagnosis, that's what he'd been worried of: catching Lupus, though it didn't stop him from becoming Kyle's personal aid. He got over it very quickly when nothing happened to him.

"Kyle," Speaking of, the Aid now nudged Kyle's arm, Kyle's face buried and snoring in it. Stan hated having to wake Kyle up, even though he always slept in English. He knew Kyle didn't get enough sleep, almost ever. "Come on, get up, it's almost 11:30. Class is about to end."

"Nooo," Kyle whined, rolling his head to face away from Stan. This earned a huff of anger, but Stan picked up Kyle's backpack to carry it for him any ways. Their schedules were identical, so this was possible for him to do for all periods. "Not today, I don't wanna go to band!"

"Why not? What's wrong?" Stan had already been standing, so he lifted Kyle to his feet, guiding him through the English hall, past the pool room, and into the band room.

"Ike kept me up all night with helping him study for a test, then woke me up early to make him food or something. I don't know, I fell asleep on the oven and burnt my arm." Kyle lifted his orange jacket's left sleeve, revealing the nasty burn. A hiss of sympathetic pain left Stan's bared teeth, and he plopped Kyle down in his chair in the front row with where all the other flute-players sat normally.

"Jesus, Kyle, you should have stayed hom-"

"No, no," Kyle swished his arm in the air, shaking his head. "I've missed so much this week already. But God, I'm so tired that _I_ forgot to eat..."

"What? Kyle!" Stan curled his lips down in a frown, disappointed, and pulled out a sandwich from his backpack after searching for a moment in the cluttered thing. He always had a backup for everything, as this had happened many times before. "You need to be better about this." He handed the sandwich to Kyle.

"No, Stan..."

"If you don't eat this damn thing, I'll slap you with one of your fuckin' spoons," With that being all said and done, Kyle took the sandwich with a hefty smile, trying to eat it past his titling. Stan also pulled out a water bottle, since it's bad for instruments to be played on after just eating and no drink. "See? It's even Kosher."

"Really? No wonder it tastes like shit. Or is that just cause you made it?"

"Kyle!" Stan took the sandwich and weakly whacked it across Kyle's pale face, giving it back after.

"Well..."

"I'm gonna go get our instruments, 'kay? Stay put."

"Pfft, like I'm going any where."

"Shush! Eat!" Stan turned and left, leaving Kyle to take small, slow bites of the sandwich. It really _was_ an atrocity, but he did it because Stan wanted him to. Funny, how just then Cartman approached, seeing as how he wasn't even in band. He ditched it for choir, which he found much more enjoyable. Kyle looked up with the sandwich halfway in his mouth, brows furrowing. "What?" He said through the bread, biting into it to chew and glare cautiously at the fat boy in front of him.

"Nothin'. Checkin' on ya'."

"Yeah fuckin' right," Kyle swallowed the mouthful. "What do you want from me? Spit it out."

"Lunch money - I ran out!" As whiny as ever. Kyle took another large bite without breathing so as not to taste it, chewed it up then swallowed it.

"Here. Now gimme a sec." Kyle gave Cartman the sandwich, which was gobbled up in seconds. Then he was handed a $5. "Now leave me alone." Cartman sniggered at Kyle's defeat, but a hand snatched the $5 away.

"Hey!" Cartman yelped as Stan shoved the $5 under Kyle's ushanka, getting a squeal as it was taken out, and grew a $20 from no where to replace it. Cartman didn't waste a moment in leaving wordlessly, so that Stan couldn't change his mind.

"Why, Stan?" Kyle moaned piteously. Stan just smiled, always happy to help his friend.

"Because you need to eat lunch. You're not doing well, you need all the food you can get."

"I am doing well!"

"Last year you were. You're getting more and more sick, Kyle! Your meds must not be working..."

"..." Kyle shifted in his seat, taking the flute handed to him carefully and looking at it guiltily. Stan's eyes got wide, and his mouth gaped.

"...Oh, no, Kyle, no! You're not taking them...?"

"It hurts!" Kyle snapped his head up, biting his lip. He was on the brink of tears, because already he felt unable to express to Stan his situation. "I know you tell me to take them every morning, but I have to pretend to, I can't do it any more! All the switching and changing; success of one pill canceled out by the 'better' of another pill! It's so expensive, my parents are running out of money and medicare isn't paying for this shit! I just want it to all go away, so...I don't take them. I'm _fine_ without them-"

"You'll _die_ without them!" Stan's voice was ready to crack, again in the position of holding back a sob-fest. "Kyle, you _have_ to take them! You can't-"

"Class is starting, take your seats!" The band director shouted, and Stan retreated to the other Alto Saxes, but not without one last upset look directed to Kyle. Kyle just kept his head down, pretending to be engulfed in where his head-joint was situated. Craig came to the front, sitting to Kyle's left, on the edge of the row. He knew of Kyle's sickness by accident, having overheard a conversation. Kyle had made him promise not to act any different towards him, so Craig flipped his sickly acquaintance off when his flute bumped into his own English Horn.

"Hi, Craig." Kyle's voice was tired.

"Hi." Comparatively, Craig's voice was as boring, flat, and nasally as ever. He sat in front of the Alto Saxes, so Stan was now pestering him and poking him with his saxophone about asking Kyle why he wasn't taking his medications. "No." Craig finally said, turning to face Stan. "No, I will not ask." The reiteration was very clear, but Stan wouldn't take that as being the end.

"I thought we were _friends_ now, Craig."

"...Really, Stan?" Craig turned to Kyle. "Why aren't you taking your Loopy pills?" He sounded more like he was saying it than asking it. He called Kyle's Lupus 'Loopy' just to make it less obvious when he _did_ have to bring it up. It also had recently become Kyle's nickname. It was cute, so why not?

"Stan!" Kyle whispered loudly, face the colour of his hair from anger.

"Tuning pitches," The director said. Craig licked his lips and pursed them around the reeds of his horn, playing a sold A-natural*. All of the woodwind players tuned up, and Craig laid out a B-flat for the brass. After that was an F-natural for everyone to double-check on, then off to practicing for the moment while the director was out.

Within the trumpets, a sudden commotion started and players from the section all flocked around Wendy and Clyde, having a battle of the...well who knows? To Craig, it sounded like annoying squeaking. Everyone was 'ooh'-ing and 'ah'-ing at Clyde, who had barely managed to play a very high-pitched, fast-beat song full of none other than triple-tongued notes. Not the best of tone, but Clyde was one of the members of the high-classed band that had barely pinched by in the auditions. He didn't really belong there; the only thing that got him through was his outstanding ability to perfectly sight-read any piece with note and rhythmic accuracy. Dynamics, articulation, and tempo were all a completely different thing, though, and he never played as good as when he sight-read. It was kind of pathetic.

"I hate trumpets," Trombonist Damien mumbled to the only tuba player, Token. Token nodded, playing a small beat that he liked and had memorized his Sophomore year.

"Oh really?" Clyde turned around swiftly, trumpet-first, to face Damien. Damien just snorted, nodding. Clyde lifted his trumpet, playing an etude for the cocky low-brass player, ending it in a flourish. Damien, not phased in the slightest, brought his trombone up and sent out what could be describe very nicely as trombone-mind-fuck to the trumpeter, it being played in a minor key signature with awkward rhythms galore and even harder intonations to down. However, he did so with grace and nearly perfect, minus the frack of one high note. Clyde just turned around in defeat, mumbling.

"Served." Craig snarled with a quirky laugh, turning back to the music they were about to run for the first time and practicing the harder parts of it. He didn't want to screw up on a simple piece like this one. To Tame The Perilous Skies, by some dead guy.

Kyle watched in a total trance as Craig's fingers danced over the keys flawlessly, able to hit hard but still flutter over the metal so disgustingly perfect. It amazed the flautist, partly because Craig was such an angry person most of the time. Listening to him made him feel at piece, and distracted him from the outside world and weights. Like his Lupus would go away if he listened all day.

"Hey, Loopy, we're about to play." Craig had stopped without Kyle noticing, but was now shaking his shoulder. Kyle's eyes opened slowly, and he brought his flute to a play-ready position.

"Right, I'm awake." Hardly.

* * *

><p>There ya' go. D8 Filler-ish. Blah.<p>

*I play on bass clef, as I myself am a trombonist, so I don't know if these are the same notes on the treble-clef. Rather, if saying it would make a treble clef-player produce a different note than I would if being told to play an A-natural. To people who don't play music at all, forget this. XD

Vocabulary/Summaries:

**_Spoon Theory_** - Originally thought up by Christine Miserandino . Please read her original version of this theory to get a better understanding of Lupus - .com/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory-written-by-christine-miserandino/  
><strong><em>Medicare<em>** - The crappy excuse of health-care provided in America.  
><strong><em>Head-joint<em>** - The .. end..beginning piece of a flute, which is divided into three sections, where the air is blown into. Essentially. I'm not completely sure, I don't play flute.  
><strong><em>Tuning pitches<em>** - Notes held out and carefully listened to for a musician to make sure their instrument sounds right.  
><strong><em>A-natural, B-flat, <em>**and_** F-natural**_ - Three notes commonly used to tune to. In my band, any ways. THAT MAKES IT VALID.  
><em><strong>Squeaking<strong>_ - The sound produced from a trumpet. All the time.  
><strong><em>Triple-Tongue<em>** - Don't try this at home, folks.  
><strong><em>Sight-reading<em>** - Reading a piece of music for your first time.  
><strong><em>Tone, key-signature, rhythm, dynamic, articulation, tempo<em>** - All just components of music. If you don't know them, don't try to understand. Really.  
><strong><em>Frack<em>** - Over/under-shooting a note. It tends to be a rather crude, filthy note that sounds just very out of place. Heard a lot from Trumpets and Trombones.  
><strong><em>Flautist<em>** - Flute-player

Read and review, please! Thank you to the first three reviewers, it made me so happy to see that! Like, day: made.


	3. Chapter 2: Angel's Cry

No, updates will not normally be daily. XD I've just been on a roll, lately. 8-) I don't have much to say, this chapter feels kinda like a filler chapter. Drama starts up in this flippity flappity floo now. :( Read and enjoy the daily updates while they last! :D

**Warning: contains drama and Stan's first attempt at getting in Wendy's pants, plus some gay. Just some.** You've been warned.

And now for the lyrics of the chapter. XD You guys should really check out these songs, they're by a band named Incubus so far. Love them, good artists! Their songs range from totally trippy to hard rock to sweet, melodic tunes. They have swearing in almost every song though...but still, look 'em up! Their best album is Make Yourself. Do it!

_You have only been gone ten days,_  
><em> But already I'm wasting away.<em>  
><em> I know I'll see you again<em>  
><em> Whether far or soon.<em>  
><em> But I need you to know that I care,<em>  
><em> And I miss you. <em>

-Incubus, I Miss You_  
><em>

* * *

><p>There were normal days, and then there were days where Kyle seemed to just be in a hell of a lot of trouble, and today was the latter, so Stan was very fed up with him by the end of the day. Never before, though, had he acted on it. Today he decided would be a day off, for himself and for Kyle. Kyle occasionally seemed to get annoyed by Stan, so why not leave him alone? It'd just be a day.<p>

"But I need help with homework, I don't get the material!" His friend had tried. This was hours ago, right after school, when Stan had argued his case.

"I know, but don't you think we should just get the day off from each other? I'll come over first thing tomorrow morning and help you with it." Stan was lying through his teeth. He wanted to spend the weekend in his own home for once, rather than with Kyle all weekend.

"Okay," Kyle believed it. "Okay. You're right. I'll see you tomorrow, then. Have a good night." He seemed upset, but Stan ignored that. If he felt guilty every time Kyle gave him that look, he'd never get any thing done.

Stan was now home, calling Wendy over.

"Okay, I'll be there in about thirty minutes. Look alive! I have an idea."

"I look forward to it," Stan sounded very obviously lusty. She wasn't the only one with plans. "Seeya, babe."

"Alright. Love you! Mwah!"

"Mwaaah." Stan looked at his phone, hung up, and went to go take a thirty-minute-long shower.

Wendy and Stan were unofficially dating, only because Stan still refused to get a FaceBook account. No one was home this weekend, either. Or any weekend, for that matter. His dad was given some sort of grant to leave to the Galapagos Islands or something and his mother came with, while Shelly was studying abroad. He stayed in South Park to finish his Senior year. That was pretty much the only reason that he got away with sleeping at Kyle's house for weeks in a row without ever coming home. Last year, it'd been different - Kyle was coming to Stan's house. Either way, Kyle wasn't here and Stan wasn't there, so his plans were very extracurricular, if you will.

When Wendy rang the doorbell, Stan had just finished getting on a tight t-shirt and any boxers that he saw, really. He answered the door and could very clearly see the colour in her face drain.

"Hey, hon," He greeted, stepping aside to let her in. Her eyes were fixed on his chest like it'd been the closest to a man she'd ever been, glancing away now and then out of courtesy.

"Hi, Stan," She mumbled, smiling and looking up to his eyes. It was a double-whammy on herself to do that, since his need for her wasn't hidden in the slightest. "Stan!" She yelped, dropping her bag of clothes. "I _just_ got here, cut me some slack!" Despite her words, she sauntered over to her tempting boyfriend, hands delicately folding over his built frame. She loved sports sometimes, like now. His own arms dropped to her waist and pulled her closer so he could tilt his head down and lock lips with her softer, glossed ones.

She smelled like a mixture of perfume and some shampoo or another, so she _had_ to have been expecting this. That, and her own desperate kisses, were enough to have him totally seduces.

"Let's go to my room," The words came out like another breath, and he lead her up the stairs in a sloppy way. She nodded, following his lead.

"Let's."

* * *

><p>Friday night, and Kyle was ditched for some stupid slut who'd slept with just about everyone in South Park High. It was hard not to blame himself for Stan's sudden abandonment, or to convince himself to stay calm and not get overtly upset at his best friend.<p>

_It's because you're always bothering him with your stupid disease. He doesn't care, he's staying with you out of pity._ No, Stan loved him: in a platonic sense. That wouldn't bother him, he was always happy to help him. _So he should stay! He knows you're in pain._ But not taking medication isn't helping, especially when he's always saying, "Take them, take them!" Besides, don't use Lupus as an excuse to keep him around! _You should give him a break, you're always up his ass. He _does_ spend most of his time with you, and doesn't even complain...this is selfish of you._ But why so suddenly? It wasn't fair!

Kyle flopped onto his bed, screaming in his pillow out of frustration, and broke into sudden tears. He was tired, sad, sick, and now, alone. That was the worst part of it; he had no friends besides Stan because he was so clingy. How was Stan not sick of him?

It wasn't like the other kids in South Park were doing any thing interesting, he hoped. _Most_ were alone on Friday nights, as their parents would go out for one reason or another. Probably to the local bar. _His_ were on a family vacation out in Florida, but due to his Lupus, he couldn't make the trip and was forced to stay home. There was nothing he could do to say otherwise, though, with his over-protective mother, so he threw his fit, ate a tub of ice cream, and played FarmVille. He knew it was 'bad for his Lupus' to be eating so much unhealthy food, but does it get worse than not taking your medication? Besides, he didn't care if he were to drop dead right now: he welcomed the thought.

A chat box flipped up in the corner of his screen abruptly with a loud 'ping!', sending Kyle flipping back in his chair and flinging Dean's chocolate ice cream on the screen. He stared at the chat box nervously while cleaning up the mess with a kleenex. The box read 'Craig Tucker' in the top left corner with a picture of Craig's middle finger under it, plus '9:53pm' to the side of the message.

"Hey." Craig had written. Not any more or less than what Kyle would've expected from him. He wondered why Craig was messaging _him_ rather than Clyde, Token, or Tweek. Within seconds, his low self-esteem-driven sadness concluded that this was the result of reading the "K" in Kyle's name and assuming it was Token or Tweek.

"Wrong person." He typed quickly, having gotten skilled at it with all his spare time. His hopes were low, but another 'ping' raised the bar back up.

"Nope, I'm all yours for this one, Loopy." Kyle smiled stupidly at this, feeling elated all over again. Maybe his night wasn't going to be too terrible.

"Oh, really? Well then, hey!"

"Hey." A pause. "I already said that."

"I noticed. What's up? Not doing any thing? Had no plans, so I'm last-resort amusement?" He was trying to figure out why _Craig_ would talk to him. It was so unusual.

"Nah, I just wanted to talk to you. Jimmy and Tweek asked me to go see a movie with them but I'd rather talk to you. Do you know how bad it is to watch movies with Tweek?" Kyle stared at the words incredulously. Craig Tucker passed up seeing a movie to talk to him. Over the internet, even more. Really...? Sure, it wasn't romantic or knight-in-shining-armor-esque, but Craig was online, wasting his night for Kyle.

"I'm flattered!"

"I saw Stan bring Wendy home today. A bit harsh, huh? Did he ask or something?" Kyle's joy was deflated at the question, and his typing became loud.

"Yeah, he asked, but I guess he shouldn't have to. It's his life. So whatever, I guess his sex life is more important than mine altogether." Momentary silence again. Kyle assumed this was probably the result of Craig being slow at typing.

"Come on, you know Stan cares. But it's not like he can fuck you."

"Yuck, Stan's a man-whore, I don't want Syphilis!"

"Lol what? Ew!" Craig saying 'lol' was so unexpected that Kyle almost choked on his mouthful of ice cream.

"Tell me about it! He talks about porn a lot, it's so nasty." Kyle found himself sucked into the silly conversation. His whole night was spent talked to Craig about sexuality, which evolved into fetishes, then weird porn, Cartman's mom, annoying kids in school, homework, sexy teachers, and so on. Finally, the ending of the conversation came up, though neither wanted it.

"Shit, dude," Craig typed. "I am laughing like so fucking hard, it hurts!"

"I know, me too! Too bad computers are bad for expressing that."

"But I'm getting loopy cause I'm so tired, probably. It's like 1:30am. Go to bed, you're Loopy too."

"Lol nice play on words."

"Whatever, stop making me laugh! Good night, Kyle."

"Aww, goodnight!" Kyle logged off and crawled in his bed, looking at the ceiling. Craig kicked his laptop onto the floor and readjusted himself in his sheets, but was looking at the poster of Red Racer on his wall. Both were thinking the same thing, though.

That gym teacher would look cute in tights.

* * *

><p>Nothing to say. Dumb chap. Read and review, <strong>thank you so much to all of you that have!<strong> That's what drives me! Also, if you see typos, tell me! Thank you Hailey for pointing out that I said "He lifted his trombonist" in the last chapter. o.o That would be strange to watch...


	4. Chapter 3: Angel's Hope

Okay, so here's another update that's...consecutive. |D It was hard to type with my sister and niece yelling and playing Mario Party behind me, though! So, again, tell me if there's something wrong with it. Got not much to say about it! Hope you like it! It's a sweeter chapter, don't get your tissue boxes. XD

**Warning: contains hung-over morons, and lots of incredi-gay everywhere.** You've been warned!

Lyrics of the chapter!

_So don't let the world bring you down._  
><em> Not everyone here is that fucked up and cold.<em>  
><em> Remember why you came and while you're alive<em>.  
><em> Experience the warmth before you grow old. <em>

-Incubus, The Warmth_  
><em>

* * *

><p>There were normal days, and then there were days where Kyle's Lupus seemed to just kick his ass to hell and back, and today was the latter, so Kyle was very fed up with his Lupus by the time...well for all day, so far. It had only been only two minutes since he woke up, and Kyle was already very sick and tired of the day. If it were up to his body, he'd roll right back into bed and forget that today was ever going to come. But it was 11:30am.<p>

11:30am, and Stan wasn't here. Stan hadn't come to help him with his homework, so he was going to have to use up probably about ten spoons just doing homework, and that fucking sucked.

As if that weren't bad enough, when it's said that Kyle's Lupus is 'kicking his ass to hell and back', that means that he couldn't stand without pain rattling his legs and knocking him down onto any thing he could hold with a hoarse yelp of pain. It hurt to touch any thing, really. The carpet felt like needles to his knees and toes; the desk he held on felt like old, used wood, scraping his fingertips so badly he thought he was bleeding; his head throbbed, his chest his, and he couldn't see straight. What made it worse was that the room felt so big without Stan - so bad and so empty.

Looking at the big picture, in Kyle's shoes, he'd been thrown into the wild and left to fend for himself without any knowledge of how to hunt. Stan would, on a normal day, get him up, usher him into the bathroom to take his pills and get ready, make his breakfast while Kyle was in the bathroom, lay his clothes out while Kyle was eating, and so on. He was one step ahead of his friend: Kyle had been spoon-fed life for the past two years.

A bolt of anger shredded through his sadness and Kyle slammed up onto his feet, despite the crushing pain that came with it.

"Fuck Stan!" He yelled, as if that was his motivational saying. He marched to the bathroom, some winces of pain with, and ripped open the cabinet that held his pills and organizer. It was a little thing to be done, but it felt like conquering the world. He got his pills for the next week ready, took the ones he needed for today -five or six swallowed in one small sip of water- and turned to face the bathroom door. He'd make it all the way down the stairs and to the kitchen alone today.

He'd always loved cooking, any ways, but Stan never let him. _He_ always made it, as if Kyle was incapable. Now was his chance to redeem himself, _for_ himself. So, he'd make something simple, since it _had_ been almost two years – he knew he wasn't fit to make much else.

So cooking turned into running around town and exercising, making a late lunch, showering, homework, and other things that kids normally did on their own. The only thing left on his mental checklist after that was socializing.

Stan had been the only person that Kyle had real conversations with for those two years, and Kyle was at a slight loss as to who to turn to now. But he had to, because it was time to make new friends. It wasn't as if Stan had to be the _only_ person in his life. He had other friends! Now, who were they, again...?

Not Cartman, he was an asshole. Clyde didn't like him, Stan was fucking Wendy, Bebe was probably hungover, Token hated poor-people amusement, Tweek was a freak, and Dog Poo... well, he's Dog Poo. So who the hell was he supposed to socialize with? For a second, he thought about just not socializing. It _was_ 4:30pm... But someone's name flashed in his head, and he knew just who he'd have his day with.

Craig Tucker.

For once, Kyle felt very empowered, like _he_ held control over his life. Not some guy he met in preschool, not his mom; _he_ was the ruler of his world. To emphasize that, he stood at the top of the stairs, chest out and proud, and yelled so loud that it boomed through the house and shook up old family photos,

"I rule my life! I can live on my own! I can live without that bitch of a friend Stan Marsh! This is _mine_!"

* * *

><p>'Hungover' was close to the actual truth, but Bebe was still legally intoxicated. So were Stan, Wendy, Clyde, Token, and just about all the other jocks and preps of South Park High School. When the party-host, our beloved Stan, woke up, he hadn't a memory of any thing but going down on Wendy, then someone offering him a weird-looking cigarette and a beer.<p>

"Fuck, it was laced," Stan murmured to himself, glaring at the white walls of his room and standing. People were still in the house, so Stan weaved in and out of rooms to the downstairs living room. It was strange to do this, as it felt more like he was in an awkward prison of drunk fucks than his own house, but he pushed that thought to the side. He cleared his throat, and shouted, "EVERYONE, WAKE UP!" Groans and yells of disapproval came, but everyone stood dizzily, looking for the origin of their woes. When it came again, it was angry rather than just loud. "And get out!" Shocked faces, confused voices, and retreating bodies.

"Great party," Token snarled, shoving Stan by his chest roughly. Stan just glared, letting his feet take a couple steps back to balance himself out and not be knocked over. He was silent while everyone left, and when they were all gone, Wendy was still there, bringing out a garbage bag for him.

"Everyone's going to hate me...fuck." Stan mumbled, taking the bag and dropping beer cans and plates into it. He'd have to go out and buy air fresheners, the whole house smelled like puke and beer.

"Are you kidding?" Wendy asked, hugging Stan tightly. She let go after a kiss to his cheek and helped clean up. "All parties end like that, really. You did fine."

"How did it even turn _into_ a party?"

"Who cares?" Wendy went to go get a vacuum. "Let's just clean."

* * *

><p>Waking up was never Craig's favourite part of the day, but it happened any ways, and he always woke up feeling fairly happy. It never stuck though, unless something dramatically uplifting happened. Otherwise, he was pretty neutral if not upset. Today was no exception, so he woke up, rolled out of bed, fell on the floor, untangled himself from his Red Racer sheets, and sat on the floor to finish waking up. When his alarm clock rang at him the theme of Red Racer, he slammed on it, too groggy to remember which button shut it off, and stood, going to go change into lazy clothes. A wife-beater and shorts would do it for him - who was gonna see? Not to forget his trusty chullo, either.<p>

Craig was about to pop a couple waffles in the toaster when the doorbell to his house rang, making him let out some awkward, bored-sounding scream and run to the door to answer it with a groan to follow.

"Who's the-..." Craig stared wide-eyed at the man at his door. "Kyle? How'd you get here...?" Under the assumption that Kyle was exhausted from walking, Craig pulled him in whether he wanted to be or not and sat him on the couch. He didn't have any expression on his face besides what could be registered as slight anger or worry. In a flurry, he closed the front door, ran to the kitchen, and got Kyle a glass of water.

Kyle, however, was in the kitchen when Craig was about to turn around and bring out the glass, and they collided. Craig backed up a good five feet, hyperventilating from the total confusion passing his overwhelmed brain and set the glass down to pat at his shirt, though it looked rather stupid. Talk about antisocial, this guy only talked to close friends, and that was...Clyde, Token, Tweek, and Jimmy. To other people, he simply said things to them, they said things back, and it was over after a few seconds and he and the other talker went their separate ways.

"Kyle!" Craig gasped, holding on the counter behind him. He sounded breathless. "Hi! How did you get here?" People didn't come into his house, so it felt odd to have this guys he barely talked to in here.

"I walked, and I'm okay, stop stressing!" Kyle tugged Craig back into the living room, and Craig didn't argue or try to escape. He was trying to neutralize his mixed feelings about everything that had just happened in the past thirty seconds. When he finally got himself under control, Kyle was pushing him towards the stairs where he assumed Craig's room would be. Almost all the houses in South Park had the same layout. "Go get on shoes, we're going out."

"But I like someone else..." Craig mumbled, the vacancy of misunderstanding coming back to his head. Kyle was on a move and was not going to pause for any one. He was going to have fun today, then sleep enough to supply him with spoons for a _week_ that night. Craig went up to his room and put on his Vans, then into the bathroom and washed his face to make sure he wasn't turning into a schizophrenic. When he came back down, Kyle was at the door, waiting for him.

"Let's go, slowpoke!" He opened it, yanking Craig out impatiently. Craig stopped to lock the door behind himself, then caught up to Kyle's fast-paced steps.

For the first two hours, it was really fun. They had talked about nothing important or stress-inducing, ate ice cream at some little Mexican store, bought tacos with Clyde in thought, talked about music, and were now at some hat store, comparing the hats to their own.

"I still have the chullo I bought when I was like, five." Craig stated, looking at a pink chullo. "Would this match my eyes?" He picked up a rainbow hat of the same style, replaced his blue one with it, and faced Kyle with a very serious face.

"No, the blue isn't dark enough."

"Okay." Craig put it back, a small smile appearing at the sound of Kyle's laughing. "So, Kyle..." Craig had to ask, now. "Why exactly did you take me out today?" The question made the air tense, but not for long. Kyle spoke without facing Craig, though the older boy had turned to face Kyle. It's a Jersey thing.

"I just wanted to spend the day with you. You're funny." Kyle decided to leave out the part where he was also trying to detach himself from Stan, and Craig didn't ask. Craig stepped forward, patting Kyle's shoulder, and the redhead's breath caught. He was afraid that this would be the part where Craig ditched him, saying 'fuck off'. To his pleasant surprise, Craig wore an uncharacteristic smile and handed Kyle a beret.

"Just asking." He said in a hushed voice, trying as hard as he could to sound neutral more than mad. He wasn't mad, but he came off that way quite often. A welcomed warmth snapped Kyle out of his shock. He took the beret, looking at it.

_This is it,_ He thought to himself. _This is what I've waited for. Self-reliance. I can be happy without Stan's help._ This had become a game of 'what can I do without Stan and for how long', and so far he rather enjoyed the game more than these two sick years put together. The worst part of the day was having to go home, but the sun had dropped and night was well in tow.

"This was a good day," Craig said when they got to Kyle's house. In contrast to his words implying that he was sad the day was coming to an end, his whole demeanor was completely tuckered out, no pun intended. Kyle was halfway through the door, but he turned his head and nodded.

"Thanks, Craig."

"Sure," Craig had to work hard to not grin again. It was too awkward.

"See you on Monday?"

"Until then." Craig waved then left towards the direction of his house, and Kyle went into his own to sleep. He _was_ really tired, but he was just a bit more satisfied with his life than he'd been in a while.

* * *

><p>Yaaaay, done. *slams face into desk* It was so hard to concentrate on this chapter. XD<p>

GUYS, CHULLO IS PRONOUNCED LIKE...SPANISH-Y. "Choo-yoh," not "choo-loh" like I'd been saying. |D Hahaha I just needed to share! Also, the "no pun intended" thing is because Craig's...last name...is 'Tucker'...hahahahaha- *shot*

**Read and review!** I cannot thank those who have enough! It just makes me so happy! Like, my heart melts with all your guys' sweet comments!

Don't forget to go to my deviantART account, either. :D I have lotsa good art there, and I'll probably start drawing snippets of my fanfiction that I enjoy. I can like my writing too! D8 Just...not a lot.


	5. Chapter 4: Angel's Breaking Point

Yep, another fruckin' update. :U I'm good! Enjoy! :D Point out any errors!

**Warning: this chapter contains emo and lots of swearing.** You've been warned!

Lyrics of the chapter:

_If you let them make you, they'll make you Paper-Mache  
>At a distance you're strong, until the wind comes<br>Then you'll crumble and blow away.  
>If you let him fuck you there will be no foreplay.<br>Rest assured, They'll screw you complete,_

_Until your ass is blue and grey!_

-Incubus, Make Yourself

* * *

><p>Monday came after a very long, good weekend, and people slowly filed into their classrooms, still hunkered out from parties and running around. Most people had their heads down, unprepared for any thing that they might be taught today. Others were very busily catching up with their friends, as if the weekend had been months.<p>

Despite all the happiness in the school, Kyle was late by twenty minutes, running into the room sopping wet and full of anger. You could see the hatred dripping off of him with every little rain droplet that fell. His supposed ride had ditched him and never said any thing, so when it was all too late, he'd slowly risen from his seat on his couch, swore to God loudly, and ran the few miles to school. That took up most of the spoons he was supposed to have for the day, so he was in no mood for any one's bullshit. He'd been able to run into the class and stand at the door, incapable to move his legs after that.

To any one in the front row, it was visibly clear that Kyle was shivering, and that his balled fists implied that he was loaded and ready to punch any one in the face who were to look at him wrong. It was no shock when his eye twitched at the teacher asking him for a pass.

"Mr. Browslowi, where's your pass?" The woman asked. Students watched curiously with sewn lips so as not to intrude the oncoming drama. The quiet kids always _were_ the most depressed or angry!

"Broflovski." Kyle said after moments of silence, cut through only by his own hard breathing.

"Excuse me?"

"_Broflovski_." Kyle's voice was gruff, but loud. "My name isn't said 'Browslowi', it's 'Broflovski'. Get it right, _then_ I'll answer you. Oh, wait! How about you just say my _first_ fucking name?" Kyle didn't know which was more disgusting, the fact that Stan might have forgotten to pick him up, or the other possibility which was that he remembered and chose not to. When he lifted his gaze up to Stan, his eyes were pretty damn bloodshot, and people actually reared up into their seats out of fear.

"What the fuck?" Stan mouthed, shrugging and gesturing at Kyle. So badly, Kyle wanted to run away and restart the day _knowing _that he'd have to walk to school. It seemed small to any one else, but to Kyle, this was life or death. Literally.

"Kyle, that language and behaviour is _not_ tolerated in my classroom! Take yourself down to the Dean's!" The teacher pointed to the door, and Kyle felt his frustration rising to unbearable extremities. Gritting his teeth, he skidded on his heel and walked out, slamming the door behind himself. It was all he could do to not punch one of the kids in the face, one with a stupid poof-ball hat.

Eyes turned to Stan, but he was busy focusing on what lesson they were going to go through that day. Someone tapped his shoulder, and whispered,

"Dude, what the hell was that?" The girl didn't sound angry, but curious. A twang of relief passed Stan. He didn't want to look like the 'bad guy', and he was pretty sure everyone would assume it was his fault that Kyle was so upset. It _wasn't_ his fault! What did _he_ do? Not give the Jew a ride? He could bring _himself_ to school, it wasn't up to any one else.

"I don't know, probably PMS or some shit, I'm not in his head." Today's weather forecast was cloudy with a chance of shit.

* * *

><p>After the whole rendezvous with Kyle this morning, Stan was pissed off to a pretty far extent. Why should Kyle be mad at him? He wasn't Kyle's slave or taxi-cab! Kyle was using him now, and that, more than any thing, hit Stan's buttons with a very big, fat, greasy finger.<p>

"Hey, Stan!" Token called from his spot with a few other jocks in the lunchroom. They were against a wall, away from all the 'uncool' kids like Kevin, Dog Poo, and Pip, like they might infect them. Stan approached them with a tweaked brow, looking around suspiciously. "Great party this weekend, huh? _Everyone's_ talking about it: saying you should throw another this weekend."

"Hey, I'm free!" Stan looked over his shoulder to make sure Kyle wasn't there. "My house, Saturday, 8:00pm. Bring whatever."

"Got it." Token gave Stan a supportive slap on the back, sending him on his way. However, he was stopped on his journey by Wendy.

"Hey, babe!" He said, slinging an arm around her neck. He went in for a kiss on her cheek, but was stopped by a brightly coloured nail, then pushed away.

"_Babe_'s got something she needs from _hunk_," Wendy led Stan off to her circle of friends, consisting of Bebe, Clyde, Heidi, Stan, and herself. "I need...okay, so I gave this guy a thing o' Vodka cause he wouldn't stop stalking me, and now he's just bothering me more! Go...beat him up or something sexy."

"What?" Stan grabbed Wendy's shoulder, leaning in to look her in the eyes. If he didn't seem angry earlier, he was angry now. No one touched Wendy without asking him!

"The chink, Kevin." She said, pointing to his spot in the lunchroom with a bored look. She was used to Stan acting as her bodyguard.

"No way," Clyde said, turning his head to face Wendy. "Kevin isn't like that."

"Yes he is," Bebe grabbed the back of Clyde's head, forcing him into a kiss. He looked dizzy. "Shut up and kiss me."

"Bebe, we've been making out for like, six hou-mmf." Bebe's interest in what he had been saying was close to nothing, and when her hand crawled next to the zipper of his pants, he forgot he had been trying to talk and just kissed her. Stan rolled his eyes, looking back at Wendy.

"I'll kick his ass," He concluded, kissing Wendy's cheek successfully.

"Thanks, hon...sorry to trouble you!"

"Any thing for you, babe. Gonna come over tonight?"

"No, I have to do something or another with my dad for college applications."

"Ouch. Tomorrow?"

"Sure."

"Kay. Love you."

"Love you too!" Wendy sat, trying to break up what was about to turn into a hand-job, and Stan started towards the cafeteria exit, wanting to go get his lunch and actually _eat_ before he killed any one. This time he was stopped by Kyle.

"Stan." He began.

"Hey, dude-"

"Kyle."

"...Hey, _Kyle_. You doin' better?"

"No."

"Oh..."

"Why'd you _leave_ me?" Kyle sounded offended: he didn't try to cover it up. He pointed wildly at the entrance to the school, but Stan pushed his arm back down. Kyle looked at his arm, derailed that Stan was able to push it off that easily.

"God, it's not like we're _dating_ or something. I didn't _leave_ you, I just didn't pick you up. You have legs, it didn't kill you!" Stan walked past the stunned boy and into the hall way, but he was quickly pushed onto the lockers so that his front and face were smashed into them. He squirmed under Kyle's aggressive grip, swearing.

"Listen here, Stan. I don't _expect_ you to do any thing like drive me to school. A phone call, however, I require." He let go, and Stan took a couple stumbled steps backwards, rubbing his neck where he'd been held. They glared at each other, before Kyle threw his arms out and laughed. "You don't get it!" Kyle's voice was getting choked, and tears formed in his eyes. His look was more intense, now, and he brought his arms back to his sides. "A phone call, telling me that you weren't going to pick me up, would've given me the chance to get a ride form someone else. So that I _wouldn't_ have had to run in the rain without a coat, and wouldn't be getting _sick_!"

Kyle grabbed Stan's shirt, pulling him in so close that their faces were a mere inch apart. "If I get sick because of you," you could hear the congestion. "I could _die_. Get it now? You could have fucking killed me and _still_ not know it. Right now, I could be dying!"

"Kyle, I-"

"You didn't think of it this way, Stan? Well guess what? You're the only person in the school who _knows_!" Kyle threw Stan away, his voice broken and his look detached. He covered his face with his hands, desperately trying to keep his whole body from shaking. "I don't care if you leave me to fuck Wendy!" He sounded muffled, and his voice finally hit it's edge, cracking. "Or forget to come over and help me with homework. But remember that you're the only person I can trust! My life kind of depends on you a little bit, Stan! Call me a queer, but I get up because you tell me to! For _you_! If I can't trust you, who can I trust? If you don't remember, who will?" Kyle looked up to see the expression in Stan's face, but there was none to be seen.

They stood in a very long silence, Stan watching the tears slowly make their way down Kyle's cheeks. It made him sick, knowing he did this to his friend. He didn't mean to, but...then again, he left, knowing this might happen.

"Jesus, you don't fucking care." Stan took too long to thing of any thing to say. "You don't fucking care! Good fucking day, Stan Marsh!" Kyle turned and left slowly with a hard sob leaving his throat.

"Well...fuck...FUCK...! FUCK YOU, KYLE! FUCK YOU AND YOUR FUCKING LUPUS! IT ISN'T MY FUCKING FAULT!"

* * *

><p>Sorry for the emoness. D: <strong>Read and review!<strong> :D Thank you to all that have, again. 3 Can't thank you enouuuugh!

It all goes downhill form here, btw. D Get your tissue boxes.

One last thing, guys...

**The reason this is called **_**Angels**_ is because patients with Lupus tend to be referred to as 'Lupus Angels'. Also, I've decided that the next few chapters are going to whip by really quickly. Like, plot's going to suddenly smack you in the face. And then it'll suddenly be over. I can't keep up with it and I'm bad at endings, so I kinda...rush. I'd rather rush this than not finish it, though! So, expect the ending. XD Already, I know, I'm sorryyyy. But enjoy the ride! ;D

Expect two chapters today, btw!

And to those who are interested, I drew...something...for it. XD Is that nerdy? D8 I just wanted to hahaha. Here you go, though! (Delete the spaces) - http: /thestacatto. deviantart .com/art/Lupus-Angels-207228215


	6. Chapter 5: Angel's Woe

I lied a couple days ago about two posts in one day, my friend Hailey got me RPing Craistophe (Craig/Christophe) and then I started drawing and time flew out the window. SO SORRY! D: I shalt not lie any longer.

Moving on, drama llama is in the house, guys! Things get heated up, so get your #1 foam fingers and choose a team! Which teams? You'll find out, but I think you can guess.

**Warning: This chapter contains lots of swearing and gay and violence and has a lot less dialogue than just writing so it might get boring.** You've been warned!

Lyrics!

_Will I ever get to where I'm going  
>If I do will I know when I'm there<br>If the wind blew me in the right direction. Yeah  
>Would I even care<br>I would. _

-Incubus, Nowhere Fast

* * *

><p>What do you do when someone collapses in a heap of sick, crying, Jewish sadness right in front of you? 'Cause Craig didn't know, but it happened. With nothing much in mind to do, he did what he could think of: take Kyle home to his own house, even if it meant ditching school, and comfort him as much as an emotionally-challenged teenager could. It wasn't all <em>that<em> much, but it seemed to cheer Kyle up. He tried not stressing over the fact that the house was filled with Stars of David. After listening to Kyle for a while, he finally spoke.

"You sound like you have a lot on your shoulders. You should really talk about this to more people." Craig didn't consider the internet as 'people', really, which was the only help it sounded like Kyle was receiving outside of Stan. He said one thing, and now he was out of advice for that topic. Next?

"You're right...this is helping, though..."

"It is?"

"Well, yeah. I guess." To Kyle's declaration, Craig gave a floored look. He helped someone?

"Oh, well...good...then. I wouldn't want to be speaking to someone who didn't care." He pretended like he knew that he'd just helped him.

"I feel like that with Stan..."

"You should punch him." Craig's reflex-of-an-answer came out before he could cover his mouth, and he just looked at Kyle like the boy had killed all his dreams. This got a laugh in return.

"Craig!"

"Sorry."

"Whatever!" Kyle punched Craig on the arm lightly. "Thanks, Craig. You know, you're pretty nice-"

"No I'm not, don't go telling people I'm a therapist or something!" The very slightest look of worry crossed Craig's face when he stood in defense, making Kyle sputter out another titter. "What?"

"Nothing, you're making me laugh!"

"I hope so, friends are supposed to do that. But I wasn't being funny."

"Huh?"

"Well, _I_ don't think I was being funny..."

"No, the other thing. We're friends?"

"I thought so..." Craig looked at the floor, embarrassment heating up not only his neck and ears but just about his whole body.

"You do?"

"What, you think I tell strangers that I like the gym teacher?"

"So cute..."

"Ah, yes... but any ways, yeah, I'd say we're friends."

"Yeah, I'd say so too." It felt like admitting your love for someone. "Thanks for everything, Craig."

"No prob."

* * *

><p>Stan was <em>fuming<em> with anger, and no one could figure out why. He barreled though halls, gave grunts as responses, and didn't look at people in the eye. Eventually, Wendy stopped him at his locker after school.

"Stan," she wore a frown, but Stan's topped it. "What's wrong with you? You're too uptight today."

"Kyle," Stan hissed. "He's being a fucking prick. He acts like we're _dating_ and gets his fucking thong screwed up his ass just 'cause I don't tell him that I came to school without him."

"Ugh, what a fag."

"No fucking kidding! Then he storms out of the school with his new faggy friend Craig Tucker. Why the hell should I pick him up? He isn't my responsibility. It's just a fucking ride to school, and he's acting like the world's going to come to a fucking halt! I'm getting pretty fucking _sick_ of his shit!"

"I would be, too." Wendy stepped back to allow Stan room to close his locker, and he let out a sigh. One of those sighs that declares that whatever funk you were in has passed.

"Wendy, how do you make me so happy so quickly?"

"It's a girl thing." Wendy grabbed the collar of Stan's jacket, pulling him down into a quick kiss. "Come on, let's go to your place, okay? You need some cool-down time."

"Talk about it."

* * *

><p>At first, Kyle accepted the face that Stan talked to him a lot less in the past couple weeks. In fact, not at all. He'd talk to him only when it was required in school, and he sounded very away, like his body was there but his mind was running out in the hallways screaming Hallelujah. But it got worse.<p>

It got to the point where they were so lost from each other that they'd developed new rings of friends; at least this was the case for Stan. Kyle just had Craig. Tweek, Jimmy, and Clyde had all come to grow on him, but he still talked to Craig the most. Stan was now hanging out with bad people: jocks, druggies, alcoholics, party-goers, et cetera. Stan himself was getting drunk on weekend, having an affair with Bebe behind Wendy's back, and Kyle was pretty sure he saw him get high behind a Jewel Osco the other day. It was worrying Kyle greatly, but it wasn't as if he could tell Stan to stop. Stan wouldn't even talk to him for projects any more. He requested a different partner and claimed that distractions were stopping him from his work.

Things were looking better in other aspects, though! He and Craig had gotten fairly close, and they were on FaceBook every night, talking. They went out around town and even to the city sometimes on weekends and lingered in the bandroom to talk or play together after class had ended. With summer approaching, everyone was itching for vacations and short clothes, so the two had gone shopping a couple times and planned out fake vacation spots.

Kyle had also gotten better about his medications, diet, and exercising habits. He looked healthier, but he was losing weight very fast. Even with medications, he was getting sicker, and the doctors weren't trying to keep up. They expected him to be dead about a year ago, but Kyle clung onto life, so they didn't bother. His medications had been the same for almost six months, and one of them canceled out another and gave him terrible side effects. For Stan's sake, though they didn't talk, he took them any ways.

This was all good, but Kyle wasn't completely sure he liked the fade into another lifestyle. Stan had become a nuisance to try and be friends with, but he was still loyal to him like a dog. He did everything Stan would've expected of him, despite hypocrisy. He didn't drink, do drugs, he did his homework, took his pills, ate, exercised...he was being good. Stan was not. It was okay though, he'd do any thing to get Stan back. He missed him so much it hurt sometimes; a literal pain sunk him into wherever he sat or stood.

It hurt him to know that Stan didn't care, too. Stan was avoiding him like a plague, and it was a bit of a depressant for Kyle. To make matters worse, Craig apparently trusted him so much that he shared two very startling experiences with Kyle in a simple game of truth or dare that Kyle wished he hadn't. He liked Craig, but he wasn't ready for promises or devotions.

"I've been 'in the closet' since somewhere around 8th grade. I still kinda deny the fact that I'd rather stare at a magazine with guys in panties than Playboy." Craig had mumbled that night. It was a Saturday, so he'd been staying over. Later on, Kyle asked if Craig had any illnesses of his own. He didn't know the difference between 'disease', 'sickness', and 'illness', to be honest, so he used the generic word. Craig's answer baffled him into a complete stop of all thoughts. "Depression," Craig said bluntly. "I was actually hospitalized for suicide attempts my Freshman year."

What can you say to that?

Kyle managed to make it through that night emotionally-unscathed, and was doing just fine now. The information given was a slight burden, but he reminded himself that this meant that the most quiet and secretive kid in school trusted him in saying that.

"Kyle?" The teacher's voice pulled Kyle out of his daydream.

"Huh? Oh, wha?"

"Do you know what we're talking about?"

"Oh, uh, no, ma'am. Sorry." Kyle looked at the paper on his desk, lacking notes from the lesson, then scribbled on it. The day went on slowly, but when the final period of the day came and went, it freaked him out. Stan wasn't there that day, even if he was present for their first two classes.

The next day, Stan wasn't even in _those_ classes. In fact, the only class Stan was in was band. Kyle had to know what was going on, so he came to Stan's band locker before even _Stan_ got there.

"Stan," He put a hand on the locker so Stan couldn't open it. Stan just shoved it off, glaring now. "Please, God, what's wrong? You haven't talked to me in day-"

"Do I _always_ have to talk just to you?"

"No, but you don't have to ignore me! You switched your schedule, too?"

"I couldn't concentrate." Stan pulled the saxophone case out, slamming the locker shut and giving the redhead a hard look. "There was a distraction." Craig had walked in just about then, and paused mid-step when he saw Stan looking angrily at Kyle. He didn't want to intervene just yet, but he was prepared to.

"Stan, no, don't do this...!"

"Do _what_? Live my life how _I_ want? You're not the _only_ person here, Kyle! I want to go live up my senior year, and you for some reason can't accept that. So fine, I just have to change it! I've given my life up for you for two years, Kyle. _Two years!_ Most people can't give up two _seconds._ And you're being a total brat about me wanting a weekend off! Then you blew it up into some cluster-fuck. So fuck off, faggot!" Stan shoved Kyle, who was shell-shocked, out of his way with a hard push to his chest.

"...You don't mean it..."

"I do! Get out of my face, you little turd!" Stan sadly picked up on his sister's way of talking. "I have music to play, and 'stupid fuckin' Jews' aren't on my agenda of things to acknowledge today."

"Hey!" Craig ran to stand by Kyle's side. Kyle couldn't move, he was simply too shaken to do much any thing other than breathe and look at Stan. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"What's _yours_? He's just going to use you like the little fag he is, then ditch you and blame his life's problems on you once you decide to take a break for _once_ in your life!"

"He didn't blame it on you, shithead!"

"Guys, stop." Kyle forced himself to say the words, but they came out without air and were flat. Stan had already dropped his case, as well, and pushed up his sleeves, storming over to Craig who stood with his head held high. He wasn't tall, but he looked scary enough.

"You have no fucking idea," Stan reeled an arm back, his look heated enough to put the bandroom up 100 degrees. "What the _hell_ I've done for this shit!" The fist was thrown with all his weight in it at Craig's stomach.

Pain flashed over Craig's face and his pupils shrunk rather dramatically. He looked like he might be sick, and the repulsive cough that came from him accompanied by stumbling back against the timpani made half the collecting crowd cringe. In a second's notice, Craig sprung back up to his feet and went to attack Stan, but Stan ducked and swung his leg out, tripping Craig. Craig's face hit the cold floor, hard, and he shrieked out in pain, rolling onto his back.

"Fuck you, I don't have to know what happened to know you're being a douchebag!" Craig maneuvered his legs around Stan's, bringing him down so he could roll on top of him, pin him down, and throw blind, anger-fueled punches at him. Kyle's prays to God that this would stop couldn't be heard through the cheering and murmurs of terror from the throng.

Eventually, Craig fell, not being suited for fighting. It was then that he heard Kyle's sobbing, but only for a second before all feeling slipped his consciousness.

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><p>Emooooooo. D: Sorry, guys! Cliffhanger. XD Story ends soon! Get yo tissue boxes! And trashcans, maing, emoness will not stop.<p>

Read and review! Muchas gracias a vosotros quien hacéis ya! :D (lolbadspanish) I just...I love you guys! You're so supportive!

**Tell me if I have any errors.** My read-through was very sloppy.


	7. Chapter 6: Angel's Needs

Yep. I have nothing to say, I really hate this chapter, it feels repetitive and skips around too much. In defense, I was doing it and taking notes in Hon. Bio at the same time! So there. It's short, so yay.

**Warning: This chapter contains a fuck load of crying, some swearing, and lots of time-confusion.** You've been warned!

Lyrics:

_And any time you feel the pain, Hey Jude, refrain  
>Don't carry the world upon your shoulders.<br>For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool  
>By making his world a little colder.<em>

-The Beatles, Hey Jude

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><p>A fight had been what Kyle was avoiding, but the wish of a dying boy was too much to ask for, apparently. As a result, he now sat at Craig's bedside in a hospital room a week after the fight, stroking Craig's hair and looking out a window while he quietly waited for the boy to wake up.<p>

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Craig telling him about his suicide attempts, and that alone made him shudder with regret. For a second, he wished he hadn't met Craig, for then the other wouldn't be in the situation he was. Craig would probably wake up hating Kyle, in his own mind, and that more than any thing rattled him. Time after time, God had failed him, but Kyle knew that was a selfish though. He himself must have been the failure if God allowed his friend to go into a _coma_.

Once again, life just flat-out sucked.

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><p>Days were long and boring, because even though Craig had woken up, he was quiet. He made it clear to Kyle that he felt any thing but hatred or resentment towards him, but it wasn't the same, and that rubbed him the wrong way. Why should they act like nothing's wrong and still be silent towards each other? They didn't stay after band, didn't talk on FaceBook, and it was awkward when Craig came over to his house, so Craig only did now and then for the few weeks he'd been conscious.<p>

First Stan, now Craig? Like Hell he'd let that happen.

Of course, in band, Kyle sat in the front row next to where the English Horns sat as he normally did, but instead of warming up while the director was out, he put his flute in his lap and held his breath, thinking quickly of what to say. More time had passed than he thought, then he got sucked into a trance by the music coming from the Horn. A sigh replaced the song.

"Kyle, I don't wanna keep this up." Craig said, shocking Kyle out of his stupor. "I liked talking to you, and being your friend, and-"

"It's okay." Kyle couldn't wait for him to stop talking, cause Craig could mumble on forever if he tried. "I agree. This should stop, there's no reason." He smiled at his friend, and Craig did the same back, hugging Kyle abruptly.

"Today, after school, I'll take you out to dinner."

"Sounds perfect." They let go, going back to their music and idly chatting when something crossed their minds.

Stan watched, horrified at what Kyle had become without him.

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><p>Summer came all too fast for half of South Park, since that half hated Summer. The other half was leaving South Park for Summer. Some kids sat around playing video games for those three months, others went outside and lived it up, and even less prepared for college. Kyle went out of town with Craig as often as he could, either on weekend-vacations or just for a day of fun. Most days, though, they ended up sitting around at one or the other's house, or at a park and talked about this, that, and the other thing. Kyle's Lupus was becoming a hot topic now, with his exterior proving that he wasn't doing well at all. He was way too skinny, and he was always sick with some cold or fever. Kyle told Craig to not fret about it, that it was just a health-dip he was going through and he'd be fine. Craig, nor any one else around Kyle, believed it.<p>

"Can we just stay home today?" It was a particularly hot afternoon, and Kyle was tired. Sleep had been unachievable the night before.

"Yeah, sure," Craig looked up from his concentration on a book. "Why?" He cared, but it didn't travel through his voice.

"I don't feel so good. I kinda wanna just go lay down." Craig frowned, wondering why this could be. It was most likely that it meant Kyle needed to see his doctor again, or just go straight to the hospital. This morning, he'd sweltered up a temperature of 101.9* degrees.

"Yeah, come on..." Craig rose from his spot on the couch with a grunt of effort, stretching out his limbs then putting his hand out for Kyle to take. He led Kyle up to his room and got him in bed, waited for him to fall asleep, then returned to the living room. Just as he went to sit down, the doorbell rang, and he got up with a reluctant groan to answer it. "Wha-"

Stan stood at the door, head down indignantly.

"What do _you_ want?" Craig spat. His voice sounded straight, but held resentment, and Stan could see him gripping the door harshly in preparation to slam it shut.

"I...where's Kyle?"

"Come to pound his face in too?"

"No! No, I want to...apologize..."

Craig thought for a moment. "...For what?"

"For leaving him!" Stan dropped to his knees, grabbing the bottom of Craig's jacket. "Please! Wendy left me, Token's after me, and all my friends turned on me!"

"So this is for yourself?" Craig kicked Stan off, and not lightly. Stan winced, inhaling sharply. "Fuck off!"

"No, I-! It...it made me realize what I did wrong. I just came back to apologize, not ask for him back. I...don't deserve to be his friend..." Stan's voice trailed off.

Craig had to decide between two choices. He could let Stan in, wake Kyle up, and let them be friends again, or shut the door on his sorry face and sit down to read his book. The first one was fair, and his morals told him not to deny Stan the chance to make it up to Kyle. But it could totally backfire, as well, and cause Kyle great emotional grief. In contrast, the second choice allowed him to keep Kyle as his friend: not Stan's. It could also potentially move around the emotional disaster.

"You're right," Craig grumbled. "You don't." He closed the door hard, going back to his book.

Stan had collected enough energy to trudge home, lay in his bed, and just do nothing. He couldn't even cry because there was no reason. He'd been selfish through the whole ordeal, and had no one to blame but himself.

Despite, he broke, rolling over and sobbing into his pillow. He just needed to lay in his own desperate pool of self-pity for a while. It was all he could do to keep himself partially sane.

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><p>Yeaaaah. D: Two updates in one day cause I didn't update yesterday and this was a quick chap! Two more left, guyssss. Thanks so much for everything! :)<p>

**Read and review, please!**


	8. Chapter 7: Angel's End

Lalalala gotta type and edit quickly so I can get to the Band Award's Night & Dinner (the acronym for that is B.A.N.D. Hahaha) lalala. Sorry if it's blah I hate this chapter it's more shit. I WRITE SHITTY. Thanks, you guys, for liking my shitty writing. XD And following it even if it's shitty. BTW FELIZ CINCO DE MAYO! 8D

Lyrics:

_Fade, made to fade  
>Passion's overrated anyway<br>Say, say my name  
>I need a little love to ease the pain<br>I need a little love to ease the pain  
>It's easy to remember when it came<em>

-Massive Attack, Dissolved Girl

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><p>It was about the time that kids were preparing to go back to school, or go to college for the first time in their life. Kyle was one of the latter, so he was stressing out. He hadn't talked to Stan through all of Summer, as well, so he felt something was missing, since they always hung out all Summer every year prior. He thought about Stan a lot, and what was on his mind recently was whether or not the other was going to college. He assumed so, since they were to go to the same one, but then again he <em>could<em> be content with selling drugs...

It didn't take a lot for Kyle to convince himself to find out, with Craig being gone and unable to stop him. Craig didn't like him talking to or even _about _Stan. However, his curiosity had been peeked, so he flipped out his cellphone, went into his contacts, and dialed Stan's number.

"Whatever goes on," Kyle took in a deep breathe, holding it while the phone rang. "Let it be good."

_Ring._

Stan might not answer.

_ Ring._

Oh God, what if he doesn't?

_Ring._

No, no, he as to...or maybe...

_Ring._

This was a stupid idea, Stan would'n-

"Hello?" A groggy voice broke the painful sound of the ringing, and Kyle let his breath go. The voice sounded tired, so Stan must have just woken up – if it _was_ Stan.

"Stan?"

"Kyle?"

"Stan, it's me!"

"Kyle! Oh my God, I...dude, I'm so sorry..."

"No wait, Stan. _I'm_ sorry..." Kyle heaved a sigh, his stupidity from last year finally catching up with him. "I was so self-centered that I lost sight of what was right..."

"You're sick!"

"That's not an excuse!"

"No, I suppose you're right...we were both at fault for what happened."

"Yeah...but Stan, I called so you could catch me up. Where are you living and all?"

The conversation they had lasted a good couple hours, the only breaks being to eat or go to the bathroom. They talked about where they lived, what they did for a living, what they did over summer, who they hung out with, grades, hopes, things you'd except after not talking to a friend for so long. A sudden idea hit Stan, though. It wasn't the best of things to do, but he had to get revenge on Craig.

"I came over in the beginning of Summer to apologize, you know." Stan mentioned casually. He'd realized what he did was wrong, yes, but Kyle needed to be his. He didn't want Kyle talking to Craig. "But Craig didn't let me in. Did he tell you?"

"What...?" Stan loved how naïve Kyle could be. It was wrong- cruel, even, but he already started it. So what if he acted like Cartman...?

"Yeah, I was...shocked, to say the least. I thought Craig was nicer. I even apologized about the thing at the end of the year, and he still didn't believe me. He called me all this shit, then said that you belonged to him and slammed the door on my face."

"What the Hell? Are you fucking serious?"

"Yeah, dude, I was _pissed_. I wanted to call you or something but I didn't want him to like come _kill_ me in my sleep or some shit. I just...it was hard to know you practically lived with someone like that." Stan was glad Kyle couldn't see him, because he always grinned when he was lying. He could _sound_ believable, though. "I don't know what the fuck he's planning, but please be careful, Kyle..."

"Speaking _of_, the asshole just parked in the driveway." Stan's grin grew wider. He'd just started the end of their relationship.

"Alright, I'll let you go then. It was _so_ great talking to you!"

"Yeah, I really missed you. We should get together some time!"

"Tomorrow? I'll pick you up."

"Okay! Bye!"

"Bye." Stan hung up, cackling and laying on his bed. Life was good. He had Wendy back, Token on his side, and now Kyle was about to turn on Craig, probably get the shit beat out of him for defying a _Tucker_, then come crying back to Stan.

What could go wrong?

* * *

><p>"Craig." Kyle sounded unwelcoming, and that alone made pricks go up Craig's spine. He sat next to Kyle on a couch any ways, about to wrap an arm around him.<p>

"What's up?" Kyle jerked away, standing now.

"You've lied to me for three months?"

"Huh?"

"You manipulative _bastard_!" Kyle backed up to a desk, grabbed the small lamp off of it, and threw it at Craig. Craig stood just before it hit him, putting his arms up in defense. By then, Kyle was in the kitchen, getting plates.

"Kyle, what the fuck?" Craig's eyes were wide, and he stood behind a chair as if it might deflect any thing Kyle threw. "What are you _talking_ about?"

"Stan told me _all _your secrets!" The plates came crashing into the chair, splintering into a plethora of fractions and slicing Craig's arm. He hissed and drew back, scowling.

"What? Calm down, calm down, talk to me!"

"Why should I do what you tell me? I'm not your property or your slave! I don't_ have_ to!"

"What? You should because _he may be wrong!_ He's been gone for a long time, he _could_ just come back and lie out of spite!" Kyle lowered his arms, set the bowls on the table but went into the living room with Craig, holding a frying pan instead. "Please, sit. O-Or stand, I don't care, but tell me..._please._" The air was bogging down the both of them, but Kyle stepped forward through it. Slow, small steps. "Please...What did Stan tell you?" Craig's voice wavered.

"...He said...he said that he came over when Summer started." Kyle held the pan above his head, ready to swing. The animal in him came back out. "Yes or no?"

"True, he did." Craig put his hands up again, a sharp pain in his arm where he'd been hit making him wince. Kyle looked remorseful for a moment.

"And that he wanted to come in and apologize, but you didn't let him. You shut the door on him." Craig was now biting his lip, indirectly giving Kyle his answer. He wanted to hear it though, so he gripped the pan-handle harder. "Well?"

"Yes! Yes, he came over, but I didn't want him to hurt you or get in a fight with you, and you'd gone to bed so I told him no! That was it! It was to protect you!"

"...You mean...?" The pan dropped, and Kyle covered his mouth and shook his head. He was confused. Who was right? The man he'd known for his whole life who suddenly turned on him, or the guy he could be considered in love with? "Stan lied?"

"Kyle, you have to tell me..." Craig slowly crept next to Kyle, putting a hand on his shoulder. Kyle flinched away. "What did Stan say that I did?" His voice was quiet but stern.

"He said you were calling him names, terrible ones-"

"What names?"

"He didn't say. But he also said that you said I belonged to you."

"God, Kyle, no!"

"I don't know who to trust any more..."

"I can't blame you. I can't even tell you to trust me. I can help you find out who you want to believe, though."

"What now...?" Kyle fell into Craig's open arms, sobbing loudly. It was too much, and he wasn't healthy enough.

"I don't know, Kyle. I don't know."

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><p>Blehblurhbloohblah. Next chap is the last! It was awesome working with you guys! 8) I am excited to see your reactions to the last chapter. :0 My friend beta'd it, so I hope it's good? XD;<p>

**Read and review!**


	9. Chapter 8: Angel's Last Chapter

**Warning: This chapter contains touchy subjects and should be read with that in mind. ** Read at your own risk, and please do not complain to me if you've been offended.

Lyrics:

_I'm floating down a river  
>Oars freed from their holds long ago<br>Lying face up on the floor of my vessel  
>I marvel at the stars<br>And feel my heart overflow.  
>Further down the river...<br>Two weeks without my lover  
>I'm in this boat alone<br>Floating down a river named emotion  
>Will I make it back to shore<br>Or drift into the unknown?  
>Further down the river …<em>

-Incubus, Aqueous Transmission_  
><em>

* * *

><p>Kyle never really <em>did<em> get better. He got so bad at some point within a couple weeks of that incident with Craig that he was hospitalized due to stress putting him into a health relapse. He hardly let visitors in. Not even Craig got in that often, so you can imagine how much _I_ did. Craig had the courtesy to tell me that Kyle was mostly sitting and staring at the boring, white ceiling, mumbling to himself about different events that led him to his downfall, the people, why, how he could have stopped it. It was selfish of everyone to dance around a sick boy like that so carelessly, so Craig couldn't bring himself to stay and had to leave when Kyle started repeating, "It's my fault, I should have apologized. It's my fault, I should have apologized."

To be honest, no one expected him to live as long as he had. He was _supposed _to have been dead about half a year after the original diagnosis, but he clung on. You could tell, from the continual sad look in his eye, that he questioned why it was that he tried. I thought about it sometimes, too. He was always depressed after that original day in the hospital. I was one of many people, when he was first claimed sick, to think he'd be dead within a year.

One day, I finally decided to visit him, to tell him the complete truth of everything. When I did, his only reaction was to nod. I was okay with that, though. He had been through enough to make his mind up about how he took the whole thing, and he seemed not to care any more. There was nothing left for him to think about, he was just going to let the world pass him by. So I didn't try to convince him whether it was Craig or I who was right, just told him the blunt truth.

I _don't_ remember the conversation with the doctor word-for-word, no. Not the first or the last. But I remember last year: the worst moment of my life, and I remember it like it was yesterday.

* * *

><p>"They let you leave?" Stan had been on his way home, but Kyle called his name then gave no further statement as to why. He now stood next to Kyle on the sidewalk, but something was wrong. Kyle's expression was very lightweight; it was blank and empty of emotion or internal thought. He was trying to get the other to speak for the past 30 minutes, and everything was failing.<p>

"No." Kyle's reply came out so thin that it made Stan's face screw up into an odd stare.

"How are you out of the hospital?" Kyle didn't move away when Stan stuck a hand out, so he went further and grabbed him roughly, pulling him closer. Kyle yanked his arm back, a small frown crossing the flat look. "Go back! No, I'm bringing you back." Stan took Kyle's hand, but let go immediately. The sick boy was cold, and his bones stretched out his skin. He looked like he hadn't eaten in days. "Kyle...?"

"I'll call you."

"No, we're going back to the hospital!"

"No. I'll call you." Kyle's tone was very firm, and even if it wasn't in any one's best interest, Stan couldn't reject him.

"Okay. Please be safe."

"Bye."

* * *

><p>It couldn't have been right. 'Bye'? Why not 'see you later' or any thing else? Why 'bye'? Why was he out of the hospital? How had he gotten so skinny? Kyle was sick and he wanted to get better, shouldn't he be taking better care of himself? Was this Craig's doing?<p>

"Goddamn it, what the fuck's going on?" Stan grabbed his hair and pulled it in all directions, finally whipping his phone out and calling not Kyle, but Craig.

The phone rang to it's near end, then was picked up.

"Hello?" Craig sounded as nasally as ever, but depressed. Nothing settled right with Stan, so he pushed his weight from one foot to the other. It didn't work.

"Craig, this is Stan."

"I'm hanging up."

"Wait! Put your anger aside for now! It's about Kyle. I saw him today-"

"You saw Kyle? In the hospital? How is he? Is he getting better? When will they release him?"

"I don't know, wait, wait!" Stan was getting panicked. Craig had no idea... "He's not _in_ the hospital! He stopped me on the street, and then he just said 'I'll call you later' and 'Bye'. That was like, two hours ag-"

"You didn't bring him back? What the fuck?"

"Wait! I couldn't! God, let me finish! _I'm_ freaked out, and you probably are too, don't make it worse! Now listen, he hasn't called in two hours and the last thing he said was 'bye'. I figured he'd come to you, but I'm guessing he didn't. Am I right?"

"Yes, but...! Oh, God, I think I'm gonna throw up,"

"Craig, stop! Listen to me, dammit! We both know Kyle's been depressed. Who says 'bye' when they plan on calling someone later? No one. Not someone who's depressed, sick with an incurable disease, and had the worst year of his life thanks to a couple jerk-offs."

"It was _you_!"

"_Shut up!_ God fucking dammit, listen! I think Kyle's...planning suicide!"

"I KNOW! I know he is! Shit, I didn't want to admit it, God, what am I gonna dooo?" Craig was in hysterics now, crying and babbling incoherently. Stan started feeling his eyes sting at the sound of it. Craig's foundation had been crushed, and it was more stable than Stan's. "Stan, you have to stop him! He's known you longer, he'll listen to you at the snap of a finger, he still won't completely believe me about my own name! Please!"

"Craig, stop! Jesus Christ, stop, I...no, I...Agh! I have to go, I have to go, I have to stop him."

"GO!"

"Okay! Thank you!"

"Make sure he's safe!"

"I will." Stan hung up, swallowed his emotions, and ran out the door, headed down to the Broflovski's.

* * *

><p>Eventually, someone had to stop the pain. The constant fear of death at your doorstep, the annoying doctor visits, the pretend pity, and every other little 'perk' that came with having Lupus. <em>Someone<em> had to_. _Doctors weren't doing the trick, his parents were still gone, his brother was too busy getting laid to care and his friends were all stupid. So that was it. His only reliable source to go forward and help himself of this sickness _was_ himself, and he didn't want to do it any more. The fight was too hard, and he was caving. But he knew how to stop it. He knew how to stop it all.

No matter who did what, Kyle was done. He hated life, life hated him, and he was just a burden to everyone. No one cared if he died or not, right? There were plenty more curly-haired, redheaded Jews out there. Maybe not all in one, but that's okay.

"Kyle?" His own name rang through the house, as did slamming of doors and hard footsteps. A painful tingle jerked Kyle's stomach, but he knew this was what he had to do for himself. "Kyle!" His name sounded bad, any ways.

Stan was racing through every room of the house, every crack, every corner, every closet, and so on. Finally, he went up the stairs to Kyle's room.

What sat before Stan made him sick to his stomach. There Kyle was, sitting with his legs tucked underneath himself, a gun to his temple. Stan didn't really care how he got a gun, he just wanted to stop this.

He had no time to react, unfortunately.

"Kyle, _NO_!"

_Bam._

* * *

><p>Everything after that, I remember, was a lot of black. Sirens wailing, people crying, black clothes, and grave stones. Through most of Kyle's funeral, I just stared at the decent clouds skimming the sky, unbelieving that I had seen my friend kill himself.<p>

I was traumatized by the cynical grin he flashed before the trigger was pulled, and how he stared at me as he did it, knowing it'd hurt too bad for my brain to initially pull through. What was worse was how his expression didn't change at first, as if everything but just the look he gave me knew he was dead, and how when it caught up to his whole being, he looked regretful. He looked like he wished he could undo what he just did and apologize.

This little scene always plays in my head, of Kyle just dropping the gun, standing, and running into me with a hug. He's always crying in the image, but I'd rather take a crying Kyle than a dead one. He always says sorry and asks if we can just go to my house and pretend that never happened, so we do, and it never _did_ happen.

Craig couldn't handle knowing that Kyle had done what he did. A week later, he actually went as far as setting himself on fire, and no one knew about it until his whole house was up in flames.

At first, I _didn't_ know how I'd cope with it all. I do now, though. I'd do the exact opposite of what I promised Kyle I'd do, because it was all I _could_ do. He'd understand.

I made it my life's goal to make sure that everyone would find out that Kyle Broflovski was an angel. A Lupus Angel.

My prayers are in the hearts of the survivors and their close ones.

* * *

><p>Theee eeeeend.<p>

**Read and review!** Blahbkaljkldjsa it's been so great working with you guys. :) I can't tell you how much I appreciate you all, I would get off the computer with some dumb smile on my face and no one could even bother to _try_ and ruin it. XD

Any ways, my sister's pissy and wants to go to bed! So, good night, good week, and **have a good summer!** Mine starts May 24th, go MHS!

Also my sister wants me to mention that she read 'read and review' as **'bread of everyone'**.


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